


Midsomer Mars

by Small_Hobbit



Category: Life on Mars (UK), Midsomer Murders
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-22
Updated: 2011-08-22
Packaged: 2017-10-22 23:08:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/243590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Small_Hobbit/pseuds/Small_Hobbit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>DCI Gene Hunt takes DI Sam Tyler to the peaceful village of Midsomer Wainscott.  However being a Midsomer village it is not quite as peaceful as they expect.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Midsomer Mars

**Author's Note:**

> Posted for the Life on Mars Big Bang.
> 
> With thanks to my betas jinxed100, phyllisdobbs and clonesgirl
> 
> Fantastic artwork by the amazing togsos here: http://togsos.livejournal.com/117040.html
> 
> None of the characters are mine, I'm just borrowing them.

**Recuperation**

DCI Hunt hurried up to the hospital ward in order to collect his DI.  Sam was waiting for him, sitting by his bed clutching both medication and spare dressings.

“Sister wants to speak to you before I leave,” he told his senior officer.

Gene looked around, clearly seeing if it was possible to make a quick getaway, but was forestalled by the arrival of a redoubtable nurse.

“Right, Mr Hunt, I am releasing Mr Tyler into your care.  He needs plenty of rest and on no account is he to go back to work for the next ten days.  If I so much as catch the whiff of a rumour that he has been seen in that police station you can bid a fond farewell to your wedding tackle.”  With that she gave a curt nod to Sam and marched off to terrorise another unfortunate relative.

“I think she made that very clear,” grunted Gene.  “Come on, let’s get out of here before she reappears for round two.”

Gene drove Sam back to the house, where Sam had been living as lodger for the past few months.  It had seemed a sensible decision, once the Missus had finally left, to have Sam move into the spare bedroom.  No-one needed to know that although Sam’s belongings were in the back bedroom Sam himself slept in the front room; which, as Gene had said, saved buying a hot water bottle.

Once inside the house Sam was all for catching up on the progress that had been made on the case whilst he’d been in hospital.  Gene, however, mindful of the sister’s threats and rather more aware that despite his protestations Sam still looked very tired, thought otherwise.  “You get yourself to bed.  There’s not much to say, so I’ll bring you up a cuppa in a few minutes and I’ll tell you then.”

Accordingly, ten minutes later Gene took two mugs of tea and a pack of jammy dodgers upstairs.  There he saw Sam sitting on the bed, practically in tears.

“What’s wrong, Gladys?  Don’t tell me you wanted pink wafers?”

“I can’t move my arm enough to get my vest off.”  The first tear rolled down Sam’s cheek.

“Well, you can either spend the night in your vest, or you can let me help you take it off.”

A second tear joined the first.

“Look, Sam, I know you want to be independent but just for once accept a bit of help.  I was going to wait till later, but I might as well tell you now.  I’ve told Rathbone I’m taking ten days’ leave as of now.”

“But the case?”

“We heard from the Met late this morning.  They had a wages snatch first thing today, same tip off, same method, only this time the poor bastard who got shot wasn’t as lucky as you and the Met are now after a cop killer.  So we’re sending all our files down to London for them to deal with.”

Whilst distracting Sam with his description of the case, Gene had quickly removed the vest and helped him into his pyjama jacket.  Sam weakly smiled his thanks and settled back on the pillows.

“On top of which,” Gene continued, “I’ve called in a favour.”

“You promised me.”

“Not that sort of favour, you div.  You remember my cousin Dave?”

“The one with ...”

“Yes.  It turns out that his wife’s auntie has gone to Australia to see her grandchildren for six weeks, which means that her cottage is available for you and me for a week and we go tomorrow.  Once again the Gene Genie has come up trumps, eh, Sam?  Sam?”

Gene looked down fondly at the younger man, who was sleeping peacefully.  “I’ll tell you all about it tomorrow morning,” he added.

#####

“Tell me the address of the cottage again,” Sam asked Gene.  They were now within a few miles of their destination.  Sam had started the journey by alternatively grilling Gene on the facts of the case and making suggestions of all the things they could do in the countryside.  As far as Gene was concerned all they were going to do was spend the days sitting outside in the sun, whilst the fresh air helped Sam get better, and the evenings drinking in a local pub, so he was very glad when Sam had dozed off about half an hour into the journey and then had slept for the greater part of it.

“Honeysuckle Cottage, The Green, Midsomer Wainscott.”

Sam consulted the map, “We should turn right after the bridge.”

They turned into a narrow country lane and discovered they were behind a Landrover which was following a herd of cows.  Out of one of the windows a dog’s head could be seen and whenever one of the cows stopped the dog would bark and the cow would start moving again.  Fortunately the cows didn’t have far to go before turning off into the farmyard, followed by the Landrover; the driver waving to Gene as he drove past.

Shortly after this they saw a signpost for Midsomer Wainscott and driving down the lane they came to a small triangular patch of grass.

“This looks like The Green, then.  Dave said the cottage was on the right.” 

They forked right and Sam pointed out the words “Honeysuckle Cottage” on the gate of the middle of a row of three cottages.  Gene parked the Cortina in front of the cottage and led the way inside.  The cottage was quite small, but perfectly adequate.  Gene dropped Sam’s bag in the single bedroom and then they both went into the main bedroom and sat on the bed.

“Well, Sammy boy, what do you reckon?”

Sam’s smile, the first proper smile Gene had had from him since the morning of the day he was shot, was sufficient reward for his efforts.

“Right, cup of tea and we can eat the rest of the sandwiches and then I suggest we wander over to the pub.”

Later as they walked across the green to the village pub, Sam looked slightly disappointed, “It’s not quite what I’d imagined for a village green.”

“It’s green-ish.  What more do you expect?”

“I’d imagined a duck pond and ducks and daffodils”

“It’s the wrong time of year for daffs, you div.  There’s a war memorial.  That’s pretty traditional.”

They entered the pub and instantly became aware that the four men who were sitting at the bar had stopped their conversation and were looking at them.

“What’ll you have, gentlemen?” asked the large man behind the bar.

“Two pints of your finest, please,” said Gene and then, spotting that the landlord was about to pull Watney’s Red Barrel, added, “and the same for these gentlemen too.”

Once they were all set up with pints from the local brewery one of the men said, “You the two that are staying in Mrs Hughes’ cottage?”

“Yes, she’s the cousin’s wife’s auntie; lent it to us for the week.  Our Sam ‘ere ‘ad an accident at work, so I’ve brought ‘im down to recover.”

There followed some discussion about accidents at work, how the bosses didn’t care and how he was lucky to get time off.  Upon learning that Sam was signed off sick, there was further agreement about nursing staff and how his Maggie was a nurse at the local hospital and you certainly didn’t argue with her.

The conversation then turned to the village show which was happening the following day and who was going to win the prize for the dahlias that year.  By the time they had finished Sam had decided that if the highlight of the year in Midsomer Wainscott was the village fair and the greatest excitement was the book Frank was running on the outcome of the dahlia prize, then nothing ever happened there.  Not long after that Gene announced that they should be leaving as it had been a long day and Sam needed his rest.

Once back at the cottage Sam suggested he go up to bed and that Gene follow him shortly.  Ten minutes later Gene came into the bedroom to see Sam lying naked across the bed.

Gene sighed.  “You look lovely like that, Sammy boy.  It would have helped, however, if you had managed to stay awake.”

Gently he moved Sam’s limbs so that he could put the covers over him.

 

 **The Village Show**

Saturday morning Sam woke to the smell of crisply burning bacon.  He grinned to himself, Gene was obviously cooking breakfast.  Shortly afterwards Gene came upstairs carrying a tray containing two plates and two mugs of tea.

“Right, Gladys, get this lot down you and then it’ll be time to go to the village show.”

The show was held in a field behind the church.  Almost as soon as Sam and Gene walked onto the field they were accosted by three Brownies selling programmes.  Gene took some money out of his pocket and bought one.  Instantly all three turned to confront Sam.  Gene reluctantly took some more change out and gave it to them.

“Now scram.”  The three little girls ran off giggling.

“They get everywhere,” Gene moaned.  And for the rest of the day whenever he caught sight of a Brownie he would hold his programme in front of him in the same way one would hold a crucifix before a vampire.

Sam spotted a tombola and he and Gene went across to try their luck.  Both bought five tickets.  Gene opened his tickets first and, discovering he had a winning ticket, triumphantly handed it over to the lady running the stall.  She smiled and presented him with two curly wurly bars sellotaped together.  Sam smirked and opened his own tickets.  He too had a winning ticket.

“My prize will be better than yours,” he said smugly to Gene.

“I don’t think so,” said Gene as Sam was handed a small purple gonk.  “At least mine’s edible!”

They continued wandering amongst the stalls until Gene suddenly stopped.

“Charlie,” he called, “Charlie Havers.”

A tall, wiry man in his fifties looked across at them.  “Gene Hunt.  What on earth are you doing here?”  He limped over to join them. 

Gene introduced Sam and explained what they were doing in Midsomer Wainscott.  He added that he’d not mentioned they were police officers to the locals and Charlie nodded in understanding.

“But what about you?” Gene asked.

“After I was shot, although the leg finally healed, I never felt the same about the job, and Elizabeth worried every time I was out, so I applied for a transfer to a desk job in Causton.  Been there ever since.  We moved into our cottage here about ten years ago.  Elizabeth went back to teaching part-time once the kids were old enough.  I’ll introduce you to our DCI.  He said he’d be coming.  His wife’s involved with the art exhibition in the marquee.”

Gene looked slight concerned.  “Don’t worry,” Charlie added, “as far as anyone is concerned you’ll just be an old neighbour of ours from when we lived in Manchester.  Look, there’s Elizabeth talking to them now.”

The three men walked over to join Charlie’s wife and her companions.  Charlie made the introductions and then suggested they adjourn to the beer tent, where it appeared that most of the male half of the village were already standing.  As they entered the tent, Sam looked slightly dubious about pushing his way through to the bar.  Gene was about to tell him to stop being such a girl when he realised that Sam was worried about getting knocked on his injured side.  Fortunately Elizabeth Havers had also noticed Sam’s reluctance and suggested that instead he might like to come with her and Mrs Barnaby to the tea tent, where not only could he avoid getting shoved accidentally but he would be able to sit down.  Accordingly the three of them left the others in the beer tent and made their way to the tea tent on the opposite side of the field.

After a while there came the noise of what sounded to Sam like a loud speaker, but he couldn’t make out what was being said.  He looked around, no-one else seemed to be reacting and he thought for a brief moment that he was hearing things.

Then Elizabeth said, “It sounds as if Alf Townsend has just announced the beginning of the afternoon programme.  I do wish he’d learn how to use that thing then we’d actually know when they made changes to the timetable rather than having to guess.”

There was no mistaking the next sound though.  There came a scream which rang out across the field and was sufficient even to bring the drinkers out of the beer tent.  Instantly Sam was on his feet and running to the source of the scream, where he met Gene and Tom Barnaby, who had arrived from the opposite direction.  The screaming appeared to come from a gentleman in his late sixties, dressed in white but with a very red face.  Barnaby went over to see what disaster had happened and returned shortly afterwards to report that the upset gentleman was a John Pritchard, chief Morris dancer, who was venting his spleen on the show secretary for inadvertently booking two troupes of dancers. 

Barnaby and Charlie Havers, who had now caught up with them, decided that since this clearly wasn’t a police matter they might as well go and see what else was on offer that afternoon.  At that moment Barnaby spotted a young man with a rapidly darkening black eye.

“Jones, what have you been doing?” he demanded.

“Hello, sir.  I was in the produce tent when I noticed an argument developing which was threatening to turn violent, so I went to see if I could prevent any damage.”

“You failed, I see,” Barnaby turned to Gene and Sam.  “This is DS Ben Jones, a testament to the violence of a village flower show.  What caused the argument?”

“Apparently, none of the dahlias were good enough to win first prize, so it hadn’t been awarded.  There was some talk of foul play and the judge being bribed and I just said that surely it couldn’t be that important which flower was the best.”

“At which point someone hit you,” added Charlie.  “Sounds like Frank’s been running a book again and if there’s no winner then he gets to keep all the money.”

Gene and Sam both nodded in agreement.

“Let that be a lesson to you, Jones.  What seems to be a minor incident can hide much murkier motives.  Alternatively, don’t get between a man and his prize winning dahlia!” Barnaby grinned.

The loudspeaker crackled and Charlie deduced that this meant that the Morris dancing was about to begin.  Curious to see how the double booking of the Morris men had been resolved Barnaby and Havers made their way over to the main arena.  Gene, however, made the excuse that it would be an idea for Sam to get some rest and having agreed that they would meet Charlie in the pub the following day for a pre-lunch drink they set off back to the cottage.

“I’m not tired, you know,” said Sam as they walked back.

“Did you really want to watch a lot of poofs dancing around with bells on their legs and waving sticks at each other?  And as you’re not tired, I can think of something far more interesting for us to do.” 

 

 **A Body**

Gene and Sam were sitting in the pub with Charlie Havers the following lunchtime.  They had booked Sunday dinner at the pub, Charlie had passed on to them Elizabeth’s invitation to go for tea, so Gene, with a pint in his hand felt that all was right with the world.

Charlie was telling them about the Morris men fiasco.  “John Pritchard and James Browning lead the two local Morris troupes.  About twelve years ago they used to all belong to one larger troupe but following a disagreement they split in two and ever since then there has been intense rivalry between the groups.”

Sam shook his head in disbelief. 

“However even before the group split Pritchard and Browning were barely on speaking terms.  As to how Edward Meadows managed to book both troupes, that is a total mystery.”

At that moment the publican leaned forward.  “Excuse me, Charlie.  Could I ask a favour of you?  Our Stephen’s come back saying he’s found a dead body.  I’m sure it’s not, but whatever it is ‘as upset ‘im.  I was wondering if you and your friends,” he nodded towards Sam and Gene, “I know you’re coppers – can smell one ‘alf a mile off. ‘Salright I’ve not said anything to the others.  I believe you when you say you’re on ‘oliday.  Well, if you could take a look.  I’d go myself, but we’re starting to get busy and with the Missus cooking dinner...”

“Where did they find it?” Charlie asked.

“Down by the stream.  They’ll meet you outside.”

Charlie looked apologetically at the other two.  “Sorry.”

Gene shrugged and got up.  They followed Charlie outside to where Stephen and his mate were waiting for them.

“This way, Mr Havers,” he said as he ran off.

It soon became clear that Charlie couldn’t keep up.  “It’s alright Charlie.  We’ll follow the boys.  You can catch us up,” Gene called.

Gene and Sam followed the boys, although it quickly became apparent that although the path was suitable (and much used) by ten year old boys it wasn’t quite as friendly to someone of Gene Hunt’s build.  Consequently they arrived at the stream having been scratched by several brambles.  Puffing slightly, Gene looked at the muddy clearing between the wood and the stream.  Despite the publican’s disbelief it was indeed a dead body: that of a man in his sixties.  Gene exchanged glances with Sam.

“Stephen,” he said, “you did the right thing in telling your dad.”

At that point muttered swearing indicated that Charlie was coming through the last of the brambles.  One look at Gene and he knew that the boys’ description was correct.  He bent down.

“Sh*,” he coughed to disguise what he’d been about to say.  “That looks like James Browning.”  He bent down and cautiously lifted the head to confirm his identification.

Suddenly Stephen’s friend said, “You okay, Mister?”  All eyes turned to Sam who was leaning against a tree looking very pale.

“Oh, for goodness sake, Tyler, sit on the tree stump.  Here, let me help you.”  Gene went over and helped Sam to the stump.  Clearly the run through the woods hadn’t been a good idea.

“Right,” said Charlie.  “I’ll take the boys back to the pub and then I can phone the station from there.  Will you be okay if I leave you here for now?”

Gene looked at Sam who nodded, so Charlie set off.  After they’d gone Gene said, “Are you sure you’ll be okay?”

“I’m fine now that I’m sat down.  I’m obviously not quite recovered yet.”

“You surprise me.”

The two men sat in silence looking at what would have been an idyllic scene had it not been for the presence of the dead body.  There were celandines nestling up to some of the tree trunks with red campion and speedwell dotted around and even the occasional fish swimming in the stream.  Sam felt he could have sat there for hours had the circumstances been different.

After about half an hour they heard footsteps coming from a different direction and DS Jones entered the clearing.

“Afternoon, gentlemen.  Charlie Havers has sent me to relieve you.”  Jones looked at the body.  “Have you touched anything?”

“No, it’s exactly as we found it.”

“There are a lot of footprints around the body.”

“I think you will find, sergeant, that they are quite small and therefore belong to the two boys who found the body.”  Gene didn’t add that although they hadn’t touched anything he’d had a good look from a distance.

“Good.  If you go along there,” Jones pointed in the direction he had come from, “you’ll find there’s a lift waiting for you.  I gather your dinner is ready.”  The emphasis Jones put on ‘your’ made it clear that he wasn’t expecting to eat for some time.

As promised, they found a Landrover waiting for them; the same one they had followed when they arrived on the Friday.  Gene opened the passenger door.

“’Op in,” said the driver.  “Meg, get down.”  The last remark was addressed to the dog, who obediently got off the seat.  Sam and Gene climbed in and Meg curled up in the foot well, with her head on Gene’s shoe.

Later that afternoon they were sitting in the Havers’ lounge, having done full justice to Elizabeth Havers’ Sunday tea.

“I presume you want me to fill you in on what we know?” began Charlie.

Gene nodded.

“Shot in the chest from close range, so presumably knew his killer.  Doc says he was killed sometime between about 10pm and 2am.  Also, not killed where the body was found.”

“There was no sign of blood on the ground,” Sam said.  “I think I saw signs of something having been dragged along on the path we took to the Landrover.”

“That would make sense,” said Charlie.  “Most of the marks would have been obliterated by the time everyone had trailed up and down to get to the body.”

“What about the boys?” Gene asked.

“I questioned them when I took them back to the pub.  They’d been playing in the woods and had followed the path they took us on to the stream.  When they found the body they walked round it because they thought at first whoever it was was sleeping; Stephen is a publican’s son after all.  Then when they couldn’t see any signs of breathing they ran back to the pub.”

“I was right about the small footprints then,” Gene noted.  “So what next?”

“We try to establish who had both motive and means.  Trouble is, with half the village completely legless, establishing any reliable witnesses is going to prove rather difficult.”

Gene nodded, “If we do hear anything useful I’ll let you know.  Right now I think it’s time we went back to the cottage.  Okay, Sam.”  Gene looked at the younger man who had fallen asleep on the settee.  “Come on, sleeping beauty.  It’s time to go home.  That’s the trouble with youngsters today – no stamina.”

Sam rubbed his eyes and slowly got to his feet.  Gene gave him an arm and the two of them set off back to the cottage.

 

 **Pub Discussions**

It was Monday evening and Gene and Sam were once again sitting in the pub enjoying a pint and listening to the conversation going on around them.  Most of it seemed to relate to the murder of James Browning and the subsequent investigation, although there was still the occasional mutter about Frank making off with the dahlia prize bets.

John Pritchard had been taken in for questioning having announced loudly that Browning had had it coming to him.  That Pritchard hated Browning was common knowledge, although the fact that he was claiming to have killed him with his bare hands in a fit of rage did make Sam wonder just how guilty Pritchard actually was.  What was known was that both Pritchard and Browning had had a blazing row before separately leaving the show field.  Since this happened just before Pete the Post had fallen in the water trough, an event that had occurred at half past nine according to a number of fairly reliable witnesses, it appeared to provide Pritchard with the opportunity as well as the motive.

There was a burst of laughter at the next table where a group of lads were sitting.

 “That’ll teach you to try something on with Dave’s sister,” one of the lads was saying.

“Okay, Andy, so how did you get on then?  Saw you leaving with Helen,” retorted his mate.

“Not as far as I’d have liked,” replied Andy. 

“You sure about that?  You were talking with that policeman earlier.”

“He was asking me, since I was Pritchard’s lodger, if I knew when he got in that night.”

“What did you tell them?”

“Said I’d got in just after midnight and Pritchard was about quarter of an hour later.”

“That’s strange,” muttered one of the other lads.

“What is?”

“Oh, nothing,” but the lad continued to look thoughtful.

Someone got another round in and the conversation turned to who would be taking over as wicketkeeper of the village cricket team now that Martin Turner had broken his arm.

Sam and Gene left the pub and began to walk back to the cottage.  As they walked across the green they met one of the lads who’d been in the pub.  He looked at them as if going to say something but then appeared to change his mind.

“Are you okay?” Sam asked him.

“Yes, it’s just that,” but then the lad hesitated.

“Out with it,” Gene said encouragingly.  “We won’t bite.”

The lad took a deep breath, “Can I ask you something?”

“Go ahead,” said Sam.

“The police are asking if we saw anything, but I didn’t see anything.  And me dad will kill me if he knows.”

“Why don’t you tell us what you didn’t see and we won’t tell your dad who you were with,” suggested Gene.

The lad grinned, “The thing is Delia and I were in the clearing where they found Mr Browning and we were ...”

Gene sighed, “We can imagine what you were doing.  What time was this?”

“Well, Delia had to be home by midnight and we just made it, so we must have left about quarter to twelve.”

“And I presume that you didn’t see anything whilst you and Delia were at the clearing?” Sam asked.

“That’s right - we didn’t see anything,” the lad answered.

“Okay,” said Gene.  “We’ll let Charlie Havers know and if he needs to ask anything further he can follow it up.  What’s your name?”

The lad looked alarmed.

“It’s alright.  He won’t tell your dad that you’ve been a naughty boy.”

“I’m Mike.  Mike Watson.”

Sam and Gene watched Mike head off home and continued walking back to the cottage.

“If what Mike says is right then that would give Pritchard at most half an hour to dump the body and get back to his home,” said Sam.

“Not very long, given that he’d have had to remove any signs of blood or mud before he went home because his lodger would certainly have told DS Jones if he’d seen any,” agreed Gene.

“Sounds like they’ll be looking for a different suspect then.  Fancy a night-cap?” Sam asked as they entered the cottage.

Late the following morning Gene drove them into Causton, where they had arranged to meet Charlie for a drink. 

“They do a good ploughman’s here, if anyone’s interested,” Charlie told them. 

They ordered their food and then carried their drinks over to a table where they were joined shortly afterwards by Tom Barnaby.  Gene told them what they’d learnt from Mike Watson.

Barnaby nodded, “Despite what Pritchard’s been saying, we were fairly sure that he hadn’t actually killed Browning.  Equally, we do think he’s involved in some way.  The enmity between the two seems to go back at least forty years and although up until now it hadn’t been sufficient for either to kill the other, it may be that something finally tipped the balance.”

He looked up to see his wife approaching, accompanied by a grey-haired lady.

“Hello Tom, Charlie.”  Joyce Barnaby smiled at the men.  “I thought you might like to meet Margaret Harris.  We were talking about James Browning in our art class this morning and Margaret said she was at school with him.  She also knows how the feud between him and John Pritchard began.”

Tom Barnaby stood up.  “Have a seat, ladies.  Can I get you both a drink?”

Once he returned with the drinks Margaret began.  “James and John were the same age as my sister Sylvia.  I was a year younger.  One summer they both wanted to court her and one day she would go out with one; the next day she’d go out with the other.  It came to the day of the dance in the village hall.  Of course, both had asked her to go with them.  What they didn’t know was that Sylvia had found a job in Oxford, working for our uncle and auntie.  So she told them both she would go to the dance with them and then that morning caught the bus to go to Oxford, standing them both up.  They each blamed the other.”

Gene raised an eyebrow, “’Ardly seems worth arguing all these years just over a girl that’s stood you up.”

Margaret smiled, “Oh, I think it went deeper than that.  Each thought that if the other hadn’t been involved Sylvia would have stayed.  The rivalry had been going on all summer.  After that, both took every opportunity to put one over on the other and things just continued through the years.”  She looked at her watch.  “Thank you for the drink.  I must go now or I’ll miss my bus.”

The men watched Joyce and Margaret leave the pub.  “Well, I’m convinced Pritchard knows something, even if he’s not directly involved,” said Barnaby.  “I’m going to keep an eye on him.  I’ll send Jones to Midsomer Wainscott this evening to discretely watch him.  My guess is that he’ll make a move tonight.”

 

 **The Woods**

That evening there was a friendly skittle match at the pub.  Since the teams were uneven Gene was asked to make up the numbers.  One of the captains said that if Sam wanted to join in they were sure they could find a further member, but Sam declined saying that he didn’t think playing skittles would do his wound any good.

Sam hadn’t wanted to admit it, but the truth was he was feeling tired.  It was only five days since he had been released from hospital with instructions to rest and although he hadn’t been doing as much as he would have done at work he hadn’t really been resting either.  So part way through the evening he said to Gene that he was going back to the cottage.  Gene looked at him, noted how washed out he looked, and promised that he’d be back as soon as the game was finished. 

Sam set off across the village green.  He spotted DS Jones sitting in his car, obeying Barnaby’s orders to follow Pritchard if he went anywhere.  Sam went across to him and Jones waved and got out of his car, glad of having someone to talk to for a couple of minutes.

At that moment they heard a scream coming from the woods, followed by what sounded like someone crying, “Help me!  Please help me.”

Instantly both Sam and Jones set off down the narrow path into the woods.  The path quickly petered out and in the darkness they were soon tripping over low branches.  Jones caught his foot in a rabbit hole and fell heavily, bashing his knee.  He gasped that he was alright and indicated to Sam to carry on in the direction they thought the cries had come from.

Sam continued to run, with one hand pressed to his side.  Suddenly he heard a branch crack nearby, and then he felt something hit him on the back of the head and he fell to the ground.  Jones limped up, saw Sam lying in the undergrowth and then suffered a similar fate.

When the skittles match finished Gene refused a further pint, saying that he wanted to make sure his mate was okay, but that if he found him asleep, he’d probably be back for the offered pint.  He walked briskly across the green and found the cottage door still locked.  Sam had had the key and they’d agreed that he’d leave the door unlocked for Gene.  Gene rattled the door and felt the familiar uneasy feeling in his guts that signified trouble.  Having noticed Jones’ car parked nearby he went to ask him if he’d seen Sam.  The car was unlocked, but with no sign of Jones, Gene’s unease intensified and he turned and ran back to the pub.

Entering the pub, he called out to the publican to ask if he could use the phone.  Gene shouted out to him that he needed Charlie Havers number and then rapidly dialled it.  As Charlie answered, Andy, Pritchard’s lodger, came rushing in, looked at Gene and the publican, said “Oh God” and was promptly sick.

“Charlie,” Gene said down the phone, “you’ll need to get Barnaby.”

Gene was waiting for Charlie as he drove up to the pub.  He got in and told Charlie to drive to Pritchard’s house.  Gene had taken Andy’s key from him and left the young man in the care of the publican’s wife, saying that they could manage without him.  They unlocked the door and were met with the sight of Pritchard lying flat on the floor with a bullet wound in his head and blood splattered on the ground.

“I suppose there’s no suggestion Andy could have done this?” asked Charlie.

“No.  He was playing skittles all evening.  Must have left the pub shortly after I did, come home and found his landlord lying in the hallway.  What worries me now is where the ‘ell are Tyler and Jones.”

“Why don’t you see if you can find any signs as to what’s happened to them.  I’ll wait here until Barnaby arrives and then I can join you.”

Gene nodded and left Charlie with the body.  He went back to where Jones’ car was parked and started to look around.  He debated whether Sam and Ben Jones could have gone off in another vehicle, but it seemed unlikely when Jones already had a car.  And if they had gone with someone, Jones would have locked his car.  So they must have gone on foot.  Gene looked around and noticed a path that led into the woods.

He hadn’t got far when a young woman practically crashed into him.  He put his arms up to catch hold of her.  She stood gasping, trying to say something.

“It’s okay,” he said, “Take your time and get your breathe back.”

She stood still, resting her head on his shoulder until she could speak.  “There are two men in the woods, they look as if they’ve been badly hurt.”

“Where?”

She pointed into the woods.  “There’s a sort of track down there.  Follow it and you’ll see them.  My friend’s trying to help them.”

“Right.  Go to the pub and tell them what you’ve told me.  The police are already on their way.”

She nodded and set off again.  Gene headed further into the woods, his heart thumping, dreading to think what he would find.  Soon he could hear the murmur of voices and heading towards them he found the two men, together with the young woman’s friend.  She appeared to be trying to restrain Jones, who was insisting that he had to go for help.

“Help’s here now.” Gene said firmly.  “Just sit down and do what the young lady says.”

Sam was still lying on the ground.  Gene bent down to him, “Sam, can you hear me?”

A whimper, “Gene?”

“I’m here, Sam.”

“Everything hurts.”

“We’ll get you sorted soon.” 

Gene looked across at the young woman.  “Can I borrow your torch?”

She passed it over to him and he shone it at Sam, trying to see the extent of his injuries.  There was some dirt on the back of his head and Gene looked closely, but couldn’t see any signs of blood.  However, Sam was clutching his side.  Gene gently moved Sam’s hand away and saw that the wound had apparently re-opened.  Gene sighed.

At that moment they heard footsteps and shortly afterwards Tom Barnaby arrived, followed by a couple of uniformed policemen.

Barnaby stopped suddenly, “Cully, what are you doing here?”

“Hello, Dad!” Cully smiled. “Jenny and I had come to look for fairy rings.”

“And you found bloody gnomes instead,” Gene grunted.

Barnaby glared at Gene.  “You could have been seriously hurt.  I don’t suppose you saw anything?”

“No.  We found Ben and this man just starting to come to,”  Cully replied.  “Ben must have taken quite a blow to the head, he seems quite confused.”

“Not as confused as he will be when I’ve finished shouting at him for leaving his post,” Barnaby retorted.

Cully pulled a face at her father.

“It’s alright Cully,” he added.  “I’ll give him time to recover before I ask for his explanation.”

“We heard someone scream, and calling out for help.  Came to find them.  They may still be around.”  Jones shook his head as if trying to make sense of what had happened.

“Right.  I’ll get a search of the woods organised.  In the meantime we need to get you checked out.  Keene,” addressing one of the constables, “give DS Jones a hand.”

The other constable came over to help Sam, but Gene assured him that he could cope.  Gently he lifted Sam up and carried him out of the wood, following PC Keene and the unsteady Jones.

Gene carried Sam back to the cottage and then upstairs to the bedroom where he laid him on the bed.  He took Sam’s boots off and then carefully removed his jacket and shirt before starting to see what state his wound was in.  There was a loud knock at the front door.  Gene tried to ignore it, but when it was repeated decided it was probably Charlie and reluctantly he went down to answer it.

“Hello, I’m Maggie,” said the lady on the doorstep.  “I gathered your friend got hit when the policeman did.  Thought I’d call by and see if he’s okay.  I’m a nurse, by the way.”

Gene was about to say that he could manage, but Maggie was already inside and partway up the stairs.  He followed her up and watched as she expertly inspected the wound.

“That’s a gun shot.”  She looked at Gene suspiciously.  “I’d heard he was injured at work.”

Gene sighed, “We’re police officers.  He was shot whilst trying to prevent a crime.  We had been hoping to keep it quiet.”

Maggie nodded.  “Not a problem.  If my Clive asks me anything I’ll give him lots of gory details.  He’ll quickly change the subject.”

She cleaned and dressed the wound.  “Can you find him a clean vest.  It would be better if he had something on top of the dressing tonight.”

Gene went to get a vest from the second bedroom, feeling extremely grateful that they had left Sam’s kit in there.

When he came back with it Maggie said, “Sam would be better in this bed for tonight.  You won’t mind sleeping in his bed, will you?”

“Of course not.”

“Right, well I’ll leave you now.  I’ll pop back tomorrow lunchtime on my way to work just to make sure everything’s alright.  In the meantime it is VERY important that you rest and give that wound a chance to heal.  I do NOT expect you to get out of bed at all tomorrow except to go to the bathroom.  Do I make myself clear?”

Sam nodded.  The way he felt currently he had no intention of moving ever again.

Gene went downstairs with Maggie.  “He will be okay, won’t he?”

“Yes, providing he does as he’s told and rests.  Oh, in case you were wondering how I knew about the beds, I helped nurse Mrs Hughes’ husband before they took him into hospital.”

Gene nodded, “Of course.  Thank you for your help.”

“My pleasure.  Good night.”

Gene went back upstairs and saw that Sam was already asleep.  He got himself ready for bed and then climbed in next to Sam.  Sam stirred and muttered in his sleep and then half sat up.  Gene carefully put an arm around Sam’s shoulders and pulled him close.  Sam settled down with his head on Gene’s chest.  Gene listened to Sam’s breathing and it was only once he was sure that Sam was truly sleeping peaceful that he allowed himself to go to sleep.

 

 **A Day in Bed**

When Sam woke the following morning he felt much better and told Gene that he saw no reason for staying in bed all day.  Gene, mindful of the inevitable wrath of Maggie if she found Sam anywhere but in bed, tried to persuade him that this was a mistake.  Finally, they agreed on a compromise: Sam would have his breakfast in bed before venturing downstairs.  So, whilst Gene went to prepare breakfast, Sam got up and went into the bathroom.  A good ten minutes later Gene brought up a boiled egg and some slightly singed toast. 

“I think I might stay here for the morning,” said Sam, “at least until Maggie’s been.”

“Not feeling quite as good as you thought?” Gene replied.

“Um, no,” Sam hurriedly changed the subject.  “What took you so long?”

“Set fire to the first lot of toast.”

Sam ate his breakfast and then settled back down under the bedclothes.  “I feel fine so long as I don’t move,” he said.

Gene was just resigning himself to keeping the patient amused for the day when there was a knock at the door.  He went down to see who it was and returned shortly, followed by Charlie Havers.

“Hello, Sam.  How are you?” Charlie asked as he came through the door.

“I’ve felt better,” Sam answered, “but I’m okay.”

“Good,” Charlie nodded.  “I told Barnaby I’d drop in to see how you were and at the same time thought I’d fill you both in on what we know.”

“Thanks, Charlie,” Gene grunted.

“Firstly, Pritchard was shot at close range, almost identically to Browning.  So again we’re assuming he knew his killer.  It would have happened in the hour between when Jones and Sam were attacked in the woods and Andy found the body.  There’s not much chance of anyone having seen anything; at that time people were either at home or playing skittles in the pub.”

“Did you find anyone else in the woods?”

“No.  We made a preliminary search last night, but there was no-one else there.  We’re making a further search today in the daylight to see if we can find any clues to your attacker.”

“Any tracks will have been obliterated last night by everyone tramping around,” Sam sounded frustrated.

“Better that than some poor sod’s left bleeding to death because of the need to conduct one of your ‘fingertip searches’.”  Gene was still very conscious of how bad Sam had looked the previous night and how much evidence he’d have gladly trampled over in order to save him.

“Thanks for calling in, Charlie,” Gene added.

“My pleasure.  I’ll let you know if there are any further developments.  Don’t bother coming down, I’ll see myself out.”

Once Charlie had left, Sam and Gene discussed the events of the previous evening.  Gene noted that Sam’s responses became slower and slower until finally they stopped altogether.  Subscribing to the theory that it was best to let sleeping DIs lie, he quietly left the room and went downstairs.

As promised, Maggie arrived shortly after midday.  Gene let her in and told her to go on up.  She went into the bedroom and smiled at Sam.

“Right, young man.  Let’s take a look at that wound of yours,” she said. 

Sam lay back and let Maggie inspect his side.  “Good,” she remarked.  “That’s looking much better.  I’ll put a fresh dressing on and then you should be fine.”

Whilst she was applying the dressing she continued to chat to Sam.  “It’s strange about James Browning and John Pritchard.  I could understand if one had killed the other: no-one would have been surprised at that.  But both of them dead, it just doesn’t make sense.”

Sam tried to say something, but was told to lie still.

Maggie continued, “And they used to argue about the oddest things.  They both collected these small pictures.  I guess you would call them miniatures, but they weren’t portraits.  They were of flowers.  They would argue about who had the best collection and which was the most valuable picture.”

By now she had finished applying the clean dressing.  “I’m sure you’re keen to start getting up, but you really do need to spend the rest of the day in bed.  That wound is healing nicely and will continue to heal if you stay where you are.”

Sam looked as if he was prepared to argue with her, but at that moment Gene arrived carrying two plates of sandwiches.  “It’s okay, Maggie, I’ll make sure ‘e stays put,” he reassured her.

“Good,” she replied.  “I won’t need to call in again, but if you do need me you can always leave a message with Clive.  He’s in the pub most days.  And now I must get off to work.”

It was late afternoon and Gene was watching Sam with some concern.  For the first time since they had come away Sam was talking about the blag where he had been shot, going over and over again what had gone wrong.  From past experience Gene knew that if he let Sam dwell on the events he would work himself up so that he would sleep badly, tossing and turning, which would in turn delay the wound’s healing.  Gene had been trying hard to find things to distract Sam but was rapidly running out of ideas.

Fortunately for both of them, there was another knock at the door.  Gene went down stairs and opened the door to DS Jones.

“Come in,” Gene’s enthusiasm took Jones by surprise. 

“I only came to see how Inspector Tyler was,” replied Jones.  “I wanted to apologise because it was my fault he was hit.”

“’E’s upstairs.  You can go up and tell him yerself.”

“Will that be okay?”

“He’ll be only too happy to have someone else to talk to.  Actually, you can do me a favour.”

“Sir?”

“Keep him company for half an hour while I pop out and get something for our tea.  Just don’t let him get out of bed.”

“Of course, sir.”

Jones went upstairs and stood in the bedroom door.  “Is it alright for me to come in, sir?”

Sam grinned, “Yes, please do.  And call me Sam.”

Jones went in and sat down.  “I’m really sorry you got hit last night.”

“These things happen.  Do you have any idea who was responsible?”

“No.  Since there was no sign of anyone else having been attacked it looks very much as if the cries were a decoy to get me (and you) into the woods.”

“Thus giving the murderer the opportunity to shoot Pritchard without being seen.”

“Yes.  Whoever it was clearly knew the location very well, but that’s not all that surprising since they knew both Pritchard and Browning.”

“You’re assuming the same person was responsible for both killings?”

“It looks very much that way.  There will be further tests on the bullets which may take some days, but it seems to be the same weapon was used in both cases.”

Sam nodded.

Ben Jones started searching in his pockets.  “I nearly forgot.  Mrs Barnaby asked me to give you these.”  He handed over two slightly smudged tickets.

“Err, thank you.  What are they for?”

“It’s the first night of the local theatre group’s summer production tomorrow.  Mrs Barnaby thought you might like to go.  To be honest I think they’re trying to drum up a bit of support.  She’s given me a ticket as well.”

Sam smiled, “What’s the group like?”

“Oh, they’re okay.  Not the standard you get in the city of course.  Most people just go to have a laugh at their mates.  The first half is made up of short sketches and then they do a little play in the second half.  There are lots of local references included, so don’t be surprised if someone says something about the murders.”

“It sounds fun.  Please thank Mrs Barnaby for the tickets."

They heard the front door open and the smell of fish and chips made its way up the stairs.

“I’ll be off then, since your tea has arrived.”

“Thank you, Ben.  We’ll see you tomorrow evening.”

When Gene came upstairs, carrying the fish and chips, he was pleased to see that Sam looked a lot happier than earlier and that Ben Jones’ visit had stopped him from fretting about the blag.  He was slightly less pleased when he learnt they were going to see the local amateur dramatic group the following evening, but cheered up again when he read on the tickets that the village hall bar would be open.

By eight o’clock that night Sam was starting to look drowsy.  Gene could feel the draw of the pub, but had no intention of leaving Sam by himself.  He still felt responsible for letting Sam come back to the cottage on his own the previous evening and wasn’t going to risk anything happening again, however unlikely it might be.

“Why don’t you go and have a pint?” Sam asked.

“We’ve already been through this.”

“Nothing can possibly happen to me while I’m in bed.”

“And how do I know you’ll stay in bed?”

Sam’s answer was interrupted by a further knock at the door.  Once more Gene went down to answer it.

“Hi, I’m Clive, Maggie’s husband.  She told me to call round.  This ‘ere’s Danny.”

“Yeah, we’ve been sent to babysit while you get a pint,” explained Danny.

Gene’s eyebrows shot up.

“We’ll give you ‘alf an ‘our,” added Clive.

Gene didn’t need telling twice.  “Your babysitters ‘ave arrived,” he shouted up the stairs.  “Thanks gents.  ‘E’s upstairs.”

Clive led the way upstairs and he and Danny greeted Sam.

“Bet this isn’t what you expected when you came for a quiet ‘oliday,” said Danny.

“I never realised so much happened in a village,” replied Sam.

“We don’t normally have people being murdered, nor getting bashed on the head,” agreed Clive.  “The occasional row over a girl, or someone comes home unexpected like and finds his wife in bed with a neighbour and fists fly, but nothing that’s been planned in that way.”

“Even the village fair was a bit more exciting than I’d imagined,” said Sam.

“It wouldn’t be the first time Frank’s run a book and made more than his share on it,” Clive remarked.

“It were strange about those Morris dancers though.  I can’t imagine how Edward Meadows could possibly book both lots.  ‘E knows how much they hated each other,”  Danny added.  “But there again ‘e’s a bit of a strange ‘un, at times.  ‘E got really upset at the auction over at Brize Farm the other week for no apparent reason.”

“What happened?” Sam asked.  “Was there something special about the auction?”

Danny thought for a minute.  “Not as far as I could tell.  Bill Greenaway wanted to make some improvements to his farm.  He’d decided to have an auction to get rid of some of their old tools which they’d replaced, which was why I’d gone.  You know, the sort of kit that’s fine for me for occasional use but not so good when you’re using it every day.”

Sam nodded.

“They were also selling off various knickknacks that had belonged to Bill’s parents when they were alive.  Bill’s dad died last year; his mum a year or so before.  I don’t think there was anything valuable there, most of it looked like stuff you’d bring back off your holidays.  Anyway there was something that Meadows seemed to want, but it appeared that the auctioneer had received a prior bid that was more than Meadows could afford.  He didn’t half create a fuss about it though.”

“I don’t suppose you know what it was that Meadows was after?” Sam was starting to become interested.

“No.  Stuff like that doesn’t interest me.  I collected up the tools I’d bought and left them to it.”

“That reminds me,” Clive said.  “Is there any chance of you giving me a hand at the weekend to move a cupboard in my mum’s kitchen?  She’s been on at me for a couple of weeks to get it done before my dad decides to do it himself.”

“Sure, no problem, mate.”

At that point the front door opened and they heard Gene come back in.  Clive and Danny said goodbye to Sam and went downstairs.

“Thank you,” said Gene.  “There’ll be a pint waiting for both of you when you get to the pub.”

“Cheers, mate.”

Gene put the kettle on and then went upstairs to discover that Sam had already fallen asleep.  Gene pulled the covers over the younger man and went back down to make himself a cup of tea.

 

 **Amateur Dramatics**

The following morning Sam woke up and stretched.  He noticed at once that although he could still feel where he had been shot it was no longer as painful.  He got out of bed and went to look for his clothes.

From downstairs a voice called out, “Get back into bed, Dorothy.  Your breakfast is nearly ready.”

“But ...”

“That’s an order.”

Sam reluctantly did as he was told.  Shortly afterwards Gene arrived in the bedroom carrying a plate containing sausages and what Sam deduced was a fried egg.  He looked slightly questioningly at Gene who said, “I think some of it’s still stuck to the pan.”

Once Sam had finished eating his breakfast Gene asked him what he wanted to do that day.

“I’d really like to see a bit more of the countryside,” Sam sounded wistful. 

“Great idea.  I know just the place, too.”

Sam was rather surprised at Gene’s enthusiasm for visiting the country, but wasn’t going to question it.  A while later they were driving down narrow country lanes with Sam exclaiming in delight at the flowers in the hedgerows, whilst Gene exclaimed in annoyance at the suicidal tendencies of the local pheasants.  The lanes led to another village and Gene drove into a pub car park.

They both got out of the Cortina and Sam grumbled, “I might have known you wouldn’t just take me into the countryside.”

“This pub was recommended to me last night.  Apparently the beer’s good and it does an excellent ploughman’s.  So I thought we could go for a bit of a walk and be back for opening time.  You’re in no state to walk for too long yet anyway.”

Sam had to admit that Gene was right.  There was a stream running through the village, with a footpath beside it, so they began to wander along the footpath, with Sam leading the way.  At one point they caught the flash of blue of a kingfisher.  A bit later Sam noticed ripples in the water and, following them, spotted a water vole disappearing into the bank of the stream. 

They went a little further and then Gene said, “It’s time we turned back.”

“But I don’t feel tired yet.”

“You will by the time we get back.”

Indeed when they had reached the pub Sam was pleased to be able to sit down.  Gene smiled at him knowingly and went to get them a drink.  He came back bearing two pints of bitter and announcing that their ploughmans would be brought out soon.

Sam said, “It’s lovely here.  You know, if I lived here I can’t imagine I’d want to go abroad for my holidays.”

One of the men sitting at the next table replied, “Edward Meadows wouldn’t agree with you there.  He’s off to his place in the south of France soon.”

“Are you sure?  I thought he wasn’t going until later in the summer,” his friend asked.

“He must have changed his mind.  I took his trunk to the railway station on Monday and I think he said he would be leaving at the beginning of next week.”

Sam was about to say something, but was interrupted by the arrival of the ploughmans.  Once they had nearly finished their food Sam said, “Edward Meadows was the man who double booked the Morris dancers at the Midsomer Wainscott fair, wasn’t he?”

“Daft bugger.  He should have known that would cause trouble.”

“I don’t understand why no-one seems to have known anything before the afternoon,” Sam said.

“Well, it just says ‘entertainment’ in the programme, so you never know what to expect,” the first man explained.

“It’s not as if anyone goes for the entertainment anyway,” his friend added.

“But wouldn’t the Morris dancers themselves know?” Sam asked.

“Oh, no.”  A third man joined the conversation.  “I was with James Browning’s lot.  We’d just get told the dates and then we’d meet up outside Joe’s garage in the morning and Browning would tell us where we were going to.  Mind you, this was a late addition.  We normally get the dates for the whole season at the beginning and we only got told about this one a couple of weeks ago.”

Gene got up.  “Can I get you gentlemen another drink?”

“Thank you, but no.  We’ll have to be getting back to work.” 

Gene got two pints for himself and Sam.  Once he had set them down he looked at Sam and said, “What’s going on inside that brain of yours?”

“I’m curious.  Why should someone book two groups of Morris dancers, especially when they know that the two leaders hate each other?  Yet that’s what Meadows did.”

“Maybe it wasn’t an accident.”

“You mean he wanted to antagonise them?  What good would that do him?”

“Perhaps he wanted to get Pritchard and Browning together.”

“Why not just invite them both to the pub?”

“Because the chances are that one or the other would walk out.  This way he’d know that their pride would be at stake and neither would back down.”

“And neither would realise it was deliberate.”

“Correct.”

“It seems to have something to do with an auction a couple of weeks ago.  I wonder if it would be possible to find out what was in the sale.”

“Why don’t we drive into Causton and ask Charlie if he can help us?”

They found Charlie Havers talking to the desk sergeant when they entered Causton police station.  Sam explained about the auction and the desk sergeant, who had also been to the auction, was able to provide the details.  He also confirmed that Meadows had acted strangely, but was unable to explain why.

Charlie took Sam and Gene over to the auctioneers.  There was a young man in the office who looked up when they entered, “Good afternoon, Mr Havers.  How can I help you?”

“Hello, Richard.  There was an auction over at Brize Farm the other week.  We were wondering if we could speak to the auctioneer, as we’ve got a couple of questions we’d like to ask.”

“I’m sorry, but Mr Layton’s on holiday this week.  Can anyone else help?”

“Probably not.  It was about something that happened at the auction.”  Charlie replied.

Sam looked despondent.  “Never mind.  I suppose it was a long shot.”

“I could let you have a copy of the catalogue if that would help at all,” Richard offered.

“Thank you,” said Sam.  “That would be better than nothing.”

Richard found the catalogue and gave it to Sam, who thanked him for it.

They drove back to the cottage, where Gene, declaring that all the fresh air had made him tired, went for a lie down.  Sam joined him on the bed and started to look through the catalogue whilst listening to the sound of Gene’s snoring.  The first half of the catalogue was mostly spades, a wheelbarrow missing one rubber handle and various other tools, none of which Sam felt would have interested Meadows.  He began looking through the household items, which included a number of dolls in various costumes (presumably Mrs Greenaway had collected them), a miniature of a blue cornflower, and several decorated plates showing different breeds of dog.  Sam couldn’t see that any of the items were of particular interest, unless Meadows had recognised something as being valuable when he saw it.  Maybe some of the pottery had been by Clarice Cliff.  He closed his eyes to try to visualise what Meadows might have wanted and woke up an hour later with his head marking his place in the catalogue. 

“Here, sleeping beauty,” Gene offered him a mug of tea.  “If we’re going to this dramatical thing we shall have to leave soon.  I presume you know how to get there.”

“Yes, Ben drew a map on the back of one of the tickets.”

Fortunately, Ben’s map was extremely helpful and they found the way, turning right at the White House “now painted blue” and left at Four Oaks “only three, one blew down in a storm a few years ago”.  When they reached the village hall they saw Mrs Barnaby, who waved to them, so they went across to join her.  She led the way into the hall and they sat down on the wooden chairs, Gene grumbling that it better not last too long and these were even worse than the chairs he’d been forced to sit on the previous week when Sam was in hospital.  Sam nudged him to be quiet as an elderly lady came onto the stage.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” she began, “unfortunately Edward Meadows has a heavy cold and is unable to join us this evening.  His role in the performance will be taken by an understudy and we trust that you will understand if we have to rely on our prompter.”

There were various cat calls along the lines of “no different from normal then”.  Sam, meanwhile, exchanged glances with Gene.  However there was no time for any conversation as the first act came on stage.

By the time the fourth act came on Sam was calculating the percentage of tiles that were cracked on the ceiling of the village hall.  The sketch appeared to involve the village idiot choosing presents for various villagers.  He began by wearing a tea cosy on his head, which was apparently going to be for the president of the Women’s Institute.  Then there was the lead for the vicar, who already had a dog collar and could therefore put the two together until he could afford to buy a dog.  After which he held up a large piece of paper showing a child’s drawing of a flower.

“And who’s this for?” his companion asked.

“It’s for Mr Meadows.  He likes pictures of flowers.”

“Yes, but he likes miniatures.  You know, very small pictures.”

“But this is ten times as big, so he’ll like it ten times as much.”

Sam sat up straight.  Suddenly everything was coming together.  He tried to get the thoughts straight in his mind.

“Will you sit still,” Gene hissed.  “You’re fidgeting more than the Brownies are.”

“I’ve got it,” whispered Sam.

“Well keep hold of it until the interval.  There’s only one more act.”

As soon as the interval began Sam leapt up.  He leant over to Tom Barnaby.  “Could I have a word, sir?  I think I know who the murderer is.”

“Of course, we’ll go outside.”  Barnaby looked around.  “Jones, over here.”

Joyce Barnaby sighed.  It appeared that this would be one more event that she would finish on her own.

Once outside Sam rapidly explained, “All three of them: Meadows, Pritchard and Browning collected these miniature flower pictures.  There was one in the auction at Brize Farm which I believe Meadows wanted but he discovered he’d been outbid by one of the others.  I think he tried to find out which one it was, but the auctioneer refused to tell him.  So he engineered the Morris dancers’ fiasco, suspecting that in the ensuing row between Pritchard and Browning whoever had won the picture wouldn’t be able to resist boasting about it.”

“And it would seem as if he’s planning to do a runner,” added Gene.  “He’s going to France next week, much earlier than usual.  I wonder if he really is suffering from a heavy cold.”

Barnaby nodded, “Jones, get over to Meadows’ house and make sure he hasn’t left yet.  I think it’s time we had a word with that gentleman.  Meanwhile, we’ll go over to Browning’s flat in case there’s anything we missed.”

Barnaby collected the key from Causton police station and the three of them entered the flat. 

“No sign of a burglary,” Gene said.

“No,” replied Barnaby.  “We asked his cleaner to take a look round, but she said things all looked to be in their right places and she wasn’t aware of anything being missing.”

“If I’m right and Browning did buy the miniature it would have to be somewhere, but I doubt he would have it on show,” Sam said.

He looked around the room and his eyes fell on a cabinet with a number of narrow drawers.  He went over and pulled open the top drawer.  It contained sheets of newspaper.  Rapidly he opened the other drawers.  They too had layers of newspaper.  Curiously Sam removed the newspaper in one of the drawers.  He noticed marks on the bottom.  Looking again at the other drawers he quickly established that all of them had similar markings.

“I think the miniatures used to be in these drawers.  No-one would notice anything missing if they gave a quick glance inside them.”

“So where are they now?” Barnaby asked.

“My guess is that they are in the trunk that Meadows sent to the south of France on Monday.”

There was a knock on the door.  Barnaby answered it and a police constable told him that DS Jones had found Mr Meadows packing his car ready to leave for France.  He had therefore brought him back to the station for questioning.

Barnaby turned to Gene and Sam.  “I must get back to the station.”

“Of course,” Gene glanced at his watch, “and if we get going now we’ll be back in time for a pint before last orders.”

Sam wasn’t at all surprised that they made it back to the pub in time for Gene to have two pints and still leave just before last orders was called. 

As they walked back to the cottage, Gene, having checked that they were unobserved, put his arm around Sam’s shoulders.  “Well, tomorrow we go home.  I’m sorry this wasn’t as restful for you as I had planned.”

Sam smiled, “I’ve had a great time.  I’m so pleased you arranged it.  And I’d have been really bored stuck at home on my own.”

Gene unlocked the door and as they walked into the cottage Sam turned and kissed him adding, “You know, so long as we are careful, I think ...”  He got no further because the answering kiss told him of Gene’s agreement.

 

 **Time to Go Home**

When Sam woke up on the Friday morning it was to the now fairly familiar smell of freshly burnt toast.  He grinned.  At least once they were home again Gene would be able to use the toaster rather than doing battle with the temperamental grill.  It came as no surprise when Gene came upstairs carrying two bowls of cornflakes.

“You’ll have to make do with this for the moment.  I am not using that bloody thing any more.”

Once they had eaten Sam tried to insist that they left the cottage tidy, but Gene said, “No need.  I’ve given Betty an extra fiver so that when she comes in to clean she’ll make sure it’s all straight.”

They packed up and were about to have a final cup of coffee before putting their bags in the Cortina and heading home.  Neither were surprised to hear a knock on the front door.  Sam went to answer it.

“I expect it’ll be Charlie,” called Gene.

Sam opened the door.  “Hello Ben.  Come in.  We’re having a cup of coffee.  Would you like one?”

“Thank you.  I called round to let you know we’ve charged Meadows with the murders of both Pritchard and Browning.”

They walked through to the kitchen, where Gene had already made three cups of coffee.

Once they had sat down, Gene said, “Are you really trying to tell me that Meadows killed two people all because of one tiny picture?”

“Something like that.  It would appear that these miniatures come in sets and therefore they are much more valuable if you have a complete set.”

“You mean like ‘Happy Families’ only with flowers?”

“Yes.  The cornflower was the only one Meadows was missing from the set, so he was furious when someone else bought it.  He had tried to find out from the auctioneer who had bought the picture, but the auctioneer had said that the buyer was anonymous.  Sam was right, Meadows deliberately double booked the Morris dancers and in the row Browning couldn’t resist boasting about his latest purchase.  Later that night Meadows called round and, having been let in, shot him.”

“Still seems a bit extreme, shooting someone just ‘cos they’ve got the picture you want.”

“It seems as if Meadows believed Browning had bought the cornflowers just to spite him and he wanted to get his revenge.”

“What was the point of moving the body?” Sam asked.  “Presumably no-one would have missed him until Monday morning.”

“Meadows said he couldn’t stand the thought of looking for the miniature whilst the body was in the flat.  So having taken the body to the clearing he returned to look for the cornflowers.  He then decided that since he was taking one miniature he might as well take them all.  He packed them into his trunk and arranged for it to be sent immediately to France.”

“Why kill Pritchard?”

“He had phoned Meadows and suggested that it would be a good idea if they met up.  Meadows arranged to go to Pritchard’s house on the Tuesday evening and having got us out of the way,” Jones looked apologetically at Sam, “shot him in the same way.  He’d already made a ferry reservation for early Friday morning, so all he had to do was wait until it was time to leave for the ferry.”

“Good job Manchester’s finest were on hand to help catch him then,” Gene remarked.

“DCI Barnaby says we would have solved it anyway, but with your assistance we haven’t got to arrange extradition.”

Sam laughed at Gene’s expression.  “Thank you for coming round and letting us know, Ben.”

Jones smiled as he got up to leave.  “I hope you have a good journey home.  Maybe we’ll see you again sometime.”

“Next year I’m going somewhere quiet,” Gene replied, “I hear Vietnam’s worth a visit.”

Sam and Gene loaded up the Cortina and Gene drove them round the village green one last time before setting off home.  

“We’ll have to drop the key off at Dave’s on the way,” Gene remarked as they entered the outskirts of Manchester.

“No chance of dropping me off first?”

“None whatsoever.”

Gene pulled up outside a terraced house and got out of the Cortina.  He walked round and opened the passenger door.

“I thought I’d wait in the car,” said Sam.

“Out!”

Sam got out and the two of them walked up the path to the front door where Gene knocked loudly.

The door was opened by a small girl, “Hello, Uncle Gene.”

“Hello, Daisy.  Can you tell Mummy I’m here.”

“Mummy,” shouted Daisy.  “Uncle Gene and Uncle Gene’s best friend are here.”

“We’ve brought you a present, Daisy,” added Gene.  He gave her the purple gonk that Sam had won on the tombola at the village fair.  “Uncle Sam chose it especially for you.”

“Thank you,” said Daisy politely.  “I shall call him Fred.”

Daisy’s harassed looking mother appeared, drying her hands on her apron.  Gene gave her the cottage keys.

“Did you have a good time?” she asked them.

“Yes, thank you.  It was lovely,” said Sam.

“Would you like to stay for a cuppa?”

“No, thanks, luv.  We’d best be getting back.  Sam’s found the journey quite tiring,” Gene answered.

She nodded understandingly.  Sam and Gene gratefully departed, but not before Daisy had demanded a kiss off each of them.

When they got back to Gene’s house Sam went to pick up the post, but Gene was too quick.

“You are still on sick leave, Tyler, so go and put the kettle on whilst I sort this out.”

“I’m well enough to make the tea then?”

“It’s rehab wotsit.  Gets you ready for going back to work without overdoing it.”

By the time Sam had made the tea Gene walked into the kitchen with a smile on his face.  “Ray’s left me a report.  The Met have caught the bastards who committed the wages snatch.  They offered the driver a deal and he sang like a bloody canary.  They’ll have no problem in convicting the sod who shot you and killed their man.”

Sam nodded and smiled slightly, “That’s good.”

“That wasn’t what made me smile though,” Gene added.  “Apparently Litton came in thinking he could throw his weight around since I wasn’t there.  He’d heard they’d got a couple of leads on the Church Road jeweller’s case, charged in and grabbed a sheet of paper off Chris’ desk.  Chris protested but Litton told him that he was in charge.  Anyway they stormed off and burst into this old boy’s house.  The trouble was Phyllis had given the paper to Chris because it had the details of a conjurer for his sister’s kiddies’ party.  So all Litton and his gang found were a few balloons tied into animal shapes and half a dozen rabbits.

Sam laughed.  “Glad to see life has continued as normal in our absence!”

“This appears to be for you.”  Gene passed Sam an envelope, which he opened.

“It’s a get well card from everyone,” he said.  “There’s a note in there from Annie to say they’d bought me some grapes but Vince forgot to drop them off so Phyllis ate them because they wouldn’t have kept.”

“Naturally.”

As they drank their tea Sam turned to Gene, “Thank you for arranging this holiday.  I know it didn’t turn out to be quite as restful as you expected, but I did have a good time.”

“Hmpf.  Next time I think we’ll go to Majorca.”

Gene carried their bags upstairs, ignoring Sam’s objections that he could manage.  Once they had unpacked Gene turned to the younger man.  “Right, DI Tyler, I think it’s time to give you a thorough physical to make sure you are fit to go back to work on Monday.”

 

 


End file.
